


Juris Doctor

by Aelia_Gioia



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: 1941 pre-war yummyiness, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Noir, Detective Noir, Detective!Patrick, Fancy Cars, Flirting, M/M, boys making out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 16:06:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20530766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelia_Gioia/pseuds/Aelia_Gioia
Summary: The world was rapidly changing in 1941's Schitt's Creek. Rose Industries heir David Rose pays a visit to the office of 30 year old Private Investigator Patrick Brewer with a case but it's quickly forgotten when the undeniable sparks fly.ORThe Schitt's Creek detective noir nobody asked for.





	Juris Doctor

It was a crisp, foggy evening when their paths first crossed. If Patrick were a superstitious man, (which he most assuredly was not), he’d have considered their chance meeting to be fate. He was closing up his desk for the day, filing the last few documents away on his own. He’d let his secretary Rachel go home early. There wasn’t much to do anyway – it had been ages since he’d had a real case; one that presented any real challenge. Once the filing was done, he loosened his tie, poured himself a drink, rested his feet up on the desk and crossed his ankles while he sorted through some glossy surveillance photos of a two-timing spouse he’d taken for a client.

The knocking made him jump.

The glass fell out of his hand and shattered on the floor. Patrick grumbled as the scent of his favorite bourbon wafted around the room and soaked into the shabby, threadbare wool area rug. The liquor was an expensive treat that he allowed himself sparingly. It was the last bottle from before the Noble Experiment began. The batch was brewed in celebration at the end of the Great War and his precious supply was waning. He wasn’t looking forward to purchasing a recent vintage, there were still many prudish teetotalers in the small town and the surrounding areas. If the wrong people saw him buying alcohol, it could severely effect his business.

He crouched down, careful not to cut his hands on any sharp chunks of glass as he cleaned up his mess but the second series of knocks startled him again and he sliced the pad of his left thumb open. He sucked air between his teeth and swore under his breath. When he lifted the bleeding digit to his lips, he tasted the bourbon on his skin.

“Am I interrupting?”

Hearing the soft, gentle voice, Patrick moved to stand up but he cracked his head on the corner of his desk.

“Goddamn it!” He shouted and clamped his bleeding hand to the side if his head.

“Should I come back another day?”

For the first time he looked up towards the voice. A tall, slim man dressed head to foot in black was standing before him, taking up most of the doorway. His clothes were glistening from the light rain, he closed his black umbrella and leaned it against the wall. His black hair was slicked up in an unusual style. While his cheeks were dotted with stubble, he didn’t appear unkempt – it was as if the five o’clock shadow was planned and cultivated. He removed his dark glasses and took a deep inhale of a cigarette, exhaling after holding the smoke in for a few moments.

Patrick found himself transfixed by the figure in front of him.

“Cat got your tongue?” The man said at last with a smirk as he tucked his glasses into his pocket. His pouty red lips made Patrick’s mouth run dry.

“Sorry – no. Come in, sit down.” Patrick tried to maintain some dignity as he stood up, still rubbing his head.

“Oh – are you alright? You’re…you have blood on your face.” The stranger came a little closer and rested both of his delicate hands on the back of the dusty green armchair in front of Patrick’s desk.

“I’m fine, cut my thumb.” Patrick held his thumb out to show off the gash that was still bleeding.

The man recoiled at the sight of the blood but he eased himself down into the armchair he’d been leaning on. He found the clear molded glass ashtray and flicked his cigarette into it.

“How can I help you?” Patrick went to the sink on the other side of his office just outside of his private washroom. He rinsed his hands and checked his face in the mirror. With a couple of hard scrubs of a rough towel, he’d cleaned the blood from his temple and then wrapped it around his thumb.

“Do you have anything to drink?” The man crossed one leg over the other. Patrick found himself getting distracted by perfect olive skin and dark eyes. The man raised his thick eyebrows at him in a question that he didn’t need to verbalize as smoke billowed from his nose.

“Oh – right. Um, sure. Let me see if I have another glass.” He opened a cupboard and some of the contents fell on the floor in front of him. Rachel was very good at typing and filing and clients were generally amenable to her sunny disposition, but she was nothing short of absolutely lousy at general organization. Two boxes of carbon paper fell to the floor and a cup full of pencils clattered down after them.

He turned, red faced and caught the man concealing a grin behind one hand placed across his mouth. Patrick’s stomach lurched; he didn’t want the man to hide his full lips even to politely stifle a laugh at his own expense. He sat at his desk, the tattered old chair creaked under his weight. He found two clean(ish) glasses in a drawer and only hesitated a moment before he poured two fingers of rust-colored bourbon in each of them. He held one glass out to the man, who was again letting his eyebrows speak for him.

“It’s a 1918 small batch. Unless you wanted something else?” Patrick questioned. The man accepted the drink with a nod and an impressed expression in his chocolate eyes.

“How’d you manage to keep this hidden?” He raised his glass in an unspoken, informal toast and took a sip.

“I have my ways,” Patrick sat back in his chair and took a sip.

“Unless you’ve lived the cleanest life ever, you’re too young for this,” the man lifted his glass. “I was 14 when liquor went underground, you must have been, what, 6?”

Patrick grinned and studied the face of the man sitting across from him. He felt like he could trust him with a not-so-well-kept family secret.

“My grandfather ran a saloon. This is all that’s left of his supply, he squirreled away about 8 bottles of it when it looked like the Volstead Act was going to pass. The agents came around and broke all the beer barrels, but they didn’t search his cellar well enough,” Patrick allowed himself to wink. “They didn’t find the tunnel under the house either. Anyway, what can I do for you Mr. –“

“Rose. David Rose. I was told to come here because -”

“I’m sorry, did you say David Rose? As in…Rose Industries?”

David sighed and rolled his eyes. He shifted in his seat, crossing his legs the opposite way and looked at the floor as he spoke.

“That’s my father’s business, but yes.”

Patrick took a longer sip of his drink and found his fountain pen in his shirt pocket. He flipped a note pad open to a clean sheet of grid lined paper and jotted down a couple notes and observations. On one hand, working a case for the heir to the Rose Industries fortune could potentially be hugely beneficial for his career if it went well; the Roses were very well connected. On the other hand, he’d heard the rumors about Johnny Rose’s son and while they didn’t bother him, close association with someone like David might drive clients away.

“Is that going to be a problem?” David sipped his drink and stared hard at Patrick.

“Not at all, Mr. Rose.” Patrick tried to give him a reassuring smile but all he could do was wonder if the bourbon would taste differently if he licked it off of David Rose’s mouth.

“David. David, please Mr. - “

“Patrick. If I’m allowed to call you David, by all means, call me Patrick.”

David smirked again and Patrick felt the sweat start to bead up on his forehead.

_Good God, that smirk is infuriating._ Patrick thought to himself.

He turned to the office door and saw the chipped lettering in gold paint on the frosted glass.

Patrick S. Brewer, JD. Private Investigator.

“JD?” David turned back to Patrick, gesturing over his shoulder.

Patrick was caught mid-sip of his drink and he nodded, trying not to let liquor dribble down his chin.

“_Juris Doctor_.”

“You’re a lawyer?” David finished his cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray. Patrick made a teeter-totter motion with his hand.

“Yes and no. I have my law degree but I didn’t sit for the bar.” He raised the bottle of bourbon to the light and exhaled softly, not much left. He poured a quick splash in his own glass and was half-intrigued, half-dismayed when David accepted another finger-width pour.

“Why do all that work if you’re not going to finish?” David swallowed the entire contents of his glass in one sip. Patrick watched him grimace slightly.

He nodded in reply, it wasn’t the first time he’d been asked that question. His father still asked him at every single holiday dinner.

“I was going to. I still can,” Patrick rocked his chair back on two legs. “Only I realized being stuck behind a desk wasn’t quite for me. The post-nominals give me some...”

“Street cred?” David offered and then cocked his head at him. “Forgive me but, aren’t you behind a desk right now?” He wiggled his fingers in Patrick’s direction with a taunting smile on his face.

Patrick smiled back. “You’ve got me there, David. The difference is, I don’t live back here. I’m out of this office, on the streets a lot more often than I’m in here.”

“Lucky that I caught you when you were in, then.” David interlaced his fingers and rested them on his knee.

“Not that I’m not enjoying this little back and forth we having going on,” Patrick stood from his seat and walked around the front of his desk where he perched, close enough to David to smell his tempting French cologne. “But, you didn’t come here tonight to drink all my bourbon and talk about my curriculum vitae. What can I do for you David Rose?”

David’s tongue traced along his lower lip and he watched Patrick’s Adam’s apple bob up and down. “I’m not sure I need to hire you anymore.”

Patrick knit his fair eyebrows together in confusion. “Pardon?”

“I _was_ going to hire you,” David stood as he began to speak. “To follow my lover, I think he’s sneaking around behind my back.” He let his hand come to rest on Patrick’s knee and they were so close, yet so far, from being chest to chest.

“Oh?” It was all Patrick could think to say. His mouth went dry again and he tried to keep himself from staring at David’s mouth. His lips were so plump and inviting, it would be too easy to just lean forward and press his own against them.

“But, I’m not sure I care anymore,” David’s voice was a whisper. He made a loose fist as he briefly hesitated before cupping Patrick’s cheek to gently hold him in place.

Patrick’s heart was thumping wildly against his ribs when they finally kissed. David’s lips were exactly as soft and perfect as they looked. He held David’s hips and as the kiss deepened, he ran his hands around to his back and pulled him in closer.

“David, what is taking you so long? Oh – well then...”

The woman’s voice sent such a shock to Patrick’s system, he thought he felt his soul jump out of the top of his head. He leapt off his desk and was halfway across the room in the bat of an eye. David had calmly turned to her and was delivering a practiced and perfected death glare. She stood perched just in the doorway, much like David had done when he first walked in. The very expensive-looking crème silk dress with a pattern of dark purple flowers she was wearing fell just below her knee. She impatiently tapped the heel of her coordinating purple shoe against the floor and a single drop of rain rolled off of her wide-brimmed hat.

“I - I – um...” Patrick indelicately wiped his forehead on the back of his hand.

“No need to explain, Sweet Pea,” The sandy-haired woman spoke in a soothing voice. She removed one of her gloves and pulled a cigarette case from her purse.

“My sister was just leaving,” David snarlled. “Alexis, you said you’d wait in the car.”

Alexis Rose playfully rolled her eyes and scrunched her nose up at her brother. “It’s just that, I’m so hungry, David. You said you’d just need a minute.”

She wiggled the cigarette in Patrick’s direction, intimating that she’d like him to light it for her. David tsked loudly and crossed his arms across his chest. Patrick exhaled, willing his heart rate to normalize while he walked back towards his desk to retrieve the bronze lighter. He flicked it open and held it out for Alexis. She raised her eyes to his face as she inhaled and winked in thanks. She tucked one hand under her opposite arm and angled her hips toward her brother, who was still red-faced and angry.

“I take it you don’t exactly care about Sebastien’s nocturnal goings-on anymore, David?” She said knowingly and smirked at him.

David returned her smirk in spite of his best efforts to maintain the façade of anger.

“Not exactly, no,” he replied.

Alexis casually flicked ash on Patrick’s floor and tilted her head this way and that, studying him. Patrick didn’t know what to make of her. She turned her attention back to David.

“Good. I never liked him anyway. Problem solved. Can we _please_ go to the club now?”

David grunted, annoyed, but nodded his agreement. She made a satisfied squeaking noise and gave Patrick a final look over her shoulder before she winked and exited back out to the street.

David cleared his throat and batted his eyes twice at Patrick. He closed the distance between them and ran his fingers from his collar and down his chest. Patrick bit his lower lip and offered him a tight-lipped smile when David tugged him closer by his tie. Their lips met a second time and David wrapped his arms around Patrick’s neck.

They’d lost all track of time relishing in the kiss when the car horn alerted David to his sister’s continuing impatience. They broke apart and David aimed a deep-throated, menacing growl towards the window.

“Are you hungry? Care to join us for dinner at Chez Twyla?” David’s delicate fingers caressed their way through Patrick’s short cropped hair.

Patrick’s eyes widened. Yes, he most definitely wanted to have dinner with David but Chez Twyla was one of the most exclusive members-only supper clubs in Elmdale, the largest city within a 25-mile radius and he was wearing the same wrinkled tan suit for the third day in a row, hardly the correct attire for the venue.

“I do but,” Patrick gestured down at his clothing. “I’m not exactly supper-club ready. I don’t think they’ll let me in looking like this.”

David smiled and kissed him again. “Baby Doll, if you’re there with me, trust me, they’ll let you in.”

Patrick retrieved his suit jacket from the back of his chair and David took it from his hands, offering to help him put it on. While Patrick adjusted his tie, David came up behind him and kissed his neck, sending a jolt of electricity shooting up and down all of his extremities. David found Patrick’s fedora hanging on its hook near the washroom door and he fiddled with the brim before placing it on Patrick’s head.

Patrick slid his arms into his overcoat and turned the collar up while David waited for him on the other side of the office door. He turned out the light and locked the door behind him. David was leaning invitingly against the wall. Patrick cracked the knuckle of his right forefinger before he reached for David’s belt and yanked him close for another kiss.

The horn sounded again and they both chuckled at Alexis’s tenacity.

“I don’t exactly know what I’m doing here,” Patrick motioned between the two of them with a flick of his wrist.

David slipped his arm into the crook of Patrick’s elbow. “Don’t worry. I do.”

Patrick allowed himself to be led out to the street and was grateful that it stopped raining. His eyebrows jumped up his forehead, impressed and excited to see the off-white with red interior Delahaye 135 idling at the curb. Alexis was sitting with her arms crossed next to their chauffeur in the front seat.

Patrick double-stepped to the car and opened the door for David. Alexis hopped out to allow the two men to climb into the back seat. Once everyone was situated comfortably, the chauffeur shifted into gear and they were off.

They barely spoke to Alexis during the ride, due to being entirely occupied studying the inside of each other’s mouths. David’s body was firm and strong against him and it was completely blowing Patrick’s mind to find himself so responsive to it. This was why it hadn’t worked out with women before, not that there had been any contenders lately. This simultaneously made sense and was the single scariest moment of self-realization he’d ever experienced. He had no qualms whatsoever about spending the night with this man who fit so perfectly into his arms; in fact, he was sincerely hoping it was the beginning of an adventure.

The car jerked to a stop and Alexis turned to them.

“Good _grief_, David. Compose yourself before we go inside, you don’t want Father to hear about you being all,” she stuck out her tongue and flapped her hands in the air while she rolled her eyes.

“Meet you inside, Alexis. Tell Twyla we’ll be along shortly,” David spoke through gritted teeth and adjusted his clothes. He giggled at Patrick’s flushed cheeks and bopped him on the nose with a single finger. “Come along,” he beckoned to Patrick with a wiggle of his finger. “She won’t hold the Chef’s table all night.”

Patrick blanched. “Chef’s table? I’m going to sit at the Chef’s table?” He tried to control his excitement but it bubbled through.

“We,” David corrected him. “_We_ are going to sit at the Chef’s table and then, if all goes well...”

Patrick interrupted him with a kiss.

“If all goes well...what? Are you propositioning me, David?” Patrick grinned with a raised eyebrow.

“I never make propositions on an empty stomach, Patrick,” he flirted back.

“This is not how I thought my night was going to end,” Patrick said as they exited the car under the yellow lights of the marquee.

“Oh, this night is far from over,” David put his arm back into the crook of Patrick’s elbow again and they winked at each other before they entered the dark restaurant.


End file.
